May the Power of Lucifer Compel You
by Lokidfault
Summary: The reader has been self-harm free for a while, but then things change. Lucifer coerces the reader into the unspeakable in order to get Sam to say yes to being his vessel. Slight AU. I suck at summaries. TRIGGER WARNING- there is self-harm and suicide attempts. Don't read if these are possible triggers.


It was another day just like usual. You and Sam and Dean were all going out on a hunt. Cas was nowhere to be found, as usual, and you were hunting down Lucifer. It had been a really long day and you were exhausted. The only lead you had turned out to be a bust. It was 11:53pm and you just wanted to go to bed. Sam and Dean pulled the Impala into the motel parking lot and you hopped out, going to unlock the door. When you got inside, you turned on the light, ready for bed.

Sam placed his bag of weapons on the bed. "I'm going to take a shower, I want to get this grime and shit off me while I still can."

"Fuck this, there's no beer." Dean said opening the fridge. "Or whiskey, or vodka. I'm going out to get a drink," and with that Dean left.

"How about you, Y/N?" Sam said

"I'm just going to go to bed, I'm fucking exhausted" you said. Sam nodded and headed to the bathroom. You walked over to your duffel bag to get pajamas to change into. You may be tired, but you have enough energy to put on comfy clothes.

You grab your favorite flannel and fluffy pants and start to undress. From the corner of your eye, you spot something by the closet door. You look over quickly, but it is just your reflection. You slowly walk over to the mirror and examine your body. Your H/L, H/C, hair is silky in the light. Your eyes flicker to your old scars. They cover your arms and upper thighs and stomach. You used to be really depressed, but after Sam and Dean took you in, you started to get better. In fact, you had been clean for almost three years.

As you stand looking at your body in the mirror, your thoughts wander back to today.

 ** _You had been hunting down Lucifer, and you had finally found a real lead as to where he might be. As Sam was packing up his research materials and Dean was preparing the weapons to go hunt the sonovabitch down, the lights flickered, then went out. You felt something hot and thick and not-solid go by you, and you screamed._**

 ** _"_** ** _What's wrong?!" Dean yelled. You shook but you didn't answer him. You kept looking around the room, like you could see something in the pitch blackness. The lights turned back on as suddenly as they had gone out and you all passed it off as if nothing had happened._**

As you stood by the mirror, now fully clothed, you saw something behind you in the reflection. You whipped around, grabbing the gun out of your pile of clothes. What you saw behind you was the last thing you would have expected.

"Well hello there, Y/N" Lucifer said. You tried to fire a bullet into his head, but before you could even aim, he simply flicked his hand and the gun flew across the room. You shook where you stood, all the terrible things he could do flashing through your head.

"Come on, Y/N, I'm not that cruel," Lucifer said, smirking.

"Then why are you here, Lucifer?" you asked as calmly as you could manage.

"Because of this whole 'Apocalypse' thing," Lucifer said with a sigh. "I'm being pressured to make sure that Sam says 'Yes', and since none of my other plans are working, I'm stuck to killing off his friends to make him feel guilty, and consequently say 'Yes'."

You stare at the fallen angel in shock at his utter bluntness. You try to say something, but you just can't. You hear the stream of water from the shower stop and realize Sam will be out of the bathroom soon.

"Okay sweet cheeks, so here's how this is going to work. I'm going to fill your mind with never-ending blackness again, and within 24 hours, you're going to kill yourself. The catch is, the boys won't be able to help you out of your self hatred and you can't tell them that I did this. They will know as soon as you are dead. Good? Good. See you in hell, Y/N," and with that he waved his hand and disappeared. You suddenly felt like you were hit with a brick wall and all you could feel was hopelessness.

"Hey, Y/N, I thought you were going to bed?" Sam asked, drying off his hair with a towel.

"Yeah, I am," you said. You picked up your clothes, gun and pocket-knife and climbed into bed. As you laid in bed and stared at the ceiling, you though about what had just happened. You thought you were finally freed, but Lucifer dragged you right back in. You felt the tears start to stream down your face and you turned your back to Sam, pretending to be asleep. You hated that you were so vulnerable, that Lucifer could get to you so easily. You were just a burden on Sam and Dean. Now Lucifer was going to be able to get to them and it was all your fault.

 _"_ _NO!, "_ your mind screamed. " _This is not your fault. This is Lucifer in your head trying to make you feel awful. But I won't do it, I will not betray the boys,"_ you vowed. _"If I survive the 24 hours, I'll be fine."_

You hear the front door open again and Dean walks back in. "I got some beer," he said, and the clunk or glass on wood told you he brought home a six pack. You stayed quiet and pretended you were asleep, quietly listening to all the noises that you would miss.

Part way through the night, you woke in a cold sweat. You looked at the clock, it read 3:04 am. You rolled over; Sam and Dean were both asleep. Suddenly, a need to cut hit you like a ton of bricks. You hated everything about yourself and just wanted to bleed out. You quietly reached down next to your bed and grabbed your pocket knife. Making as little noise as possible, you slipped out from under the covers and tiptoed to the bathroom door. You silently shut the door and turned on the light, sliding to the floor. You couldn't feel anything, no sadness, no anger, no hatred, just the unending need to rip open your skin and watch your body drain itself of blood.

You opened your pocket knife and savored the weight of it in your hand. You pressed the sharp edge of it into your left arm, right below your elbow and sucked in a breath. The pain in your arm was beautiful. You ripped the blade across your arm, but the blood flowing out of your arm was not enough to satisfy you. You dig the blade back into your arm and drag it across your flesh again, and again and again. You slowly make your way to your wrist. Your entire arm is coated in blood and a nagging voice in the back of your head says you need stitches, but you don't care. It isn't enough to satisfy you. You shift the blade into your left hand and press the blade into your right arm. You rip the blade across the flesh below your right elbow, and then an idea hits you. Cutting horizontally causes more pain, and less blood. You place the blade along your vein in your right arm and press down into your flesh. You know when you hit the vein because you can see the blood start to pour out from around the blade. You drag the blade along your arm, savoring the pain and the beauty of the flow of red pouring out of your arm.

You use the sink to pull yourself up and look at yourself in the mirror. You hated yourself. Everything about yourself; your shape, your style, your personality, your face. You place the blade on your cheek and pull the knife towards your mouth. Your move the blade to your collarbone and create a gash there as well. Suddenly, you get hit with an overwhelming wave of anger. You smash your arm into the mirror and fall to the floor. You simply lay there and stare at the ceiling as Sam and Dean yank open the door.

As the darkness closes in on you, you see Sam cling to the door frame for support and the tears start to flow down Dean's angry face.

You have never felt as utterly disappointed as when you woke up a few hours later. You thought you had succeeded, there was so much blood, you should have died.

You blink a few times, to clear the sleep out of your eyes, then you sit up and look around. Dean is nowhere to be found, but Sam is sleeping in a chair next to your bed. The clock reads 1:48 pm. You sit up quickly and start to fall over again but Sam, woken up by your rustling, catches you. He sits you back up on the bed and hands you a cup of water off of the nightstand.

You try to avoid his eye, but he keeps looking at you. You turn your head towards him and he begins, "What happened?" he says.

"I don't know what you mean" you said.

"Stop. You know exactly what I mean." When you say nothing, he continues, "Why did Dean and I find you curled up in the bathroom with a puddle of blood, glass and a knife around you?"

You want to tell him. You want to hug him and cry and tell him everything, but you can't. You can't even open your mouth.

You sit there and just stare at him, because that is all you can do.

Right then, Dean walks in with a bottle of Tennessee Fire. He ignores you and Sam and goes to the kitchen, grabbing three glasses. He walks over to you and Sam, and sits down on the bed. You say nothing, and simply watch as he pours the whiskey into the glasses and he hands one to Sam, and one to you. He takes a large gulp out of his, then looks to you and says, "So?"

" 'So' what, Dean?" you ask.

"You know damn well what I mean, (y/n)."

You take a few sips out of your glass and look at him, not saying anything. His eyes harden momentarily, then soften again.

"You know you can talk to us, (y/n)" he says.

You look at him and start to open your mouth, but then Lucifer appears behind them and presses a finger against his lips, and suddenly, your mouth snaps shut and you have a lump in your throat. You feel like you're going to choke, and your eyes water. You glare at the spot where Lucifer is standing. The brothers notice and turn around, but they can't see anything. Only you can see Lucifer. They turn around and look at you like you are crazy.

"(y/n), what are you looking at?" Sam asks, agitated, but worried.

"Its—nothing" you murmur. They clearly don't believe you, but they don't push either. You finish your drink in two large gulps, and fake a yawn.

"I'm going to go back to sleep, okay?" you say. You are exhausted, but you don't think you are actually going to be able to sleep.

 _'_ _But maybe if I can fall asleep, I'll sleep through these next 10 hours. Lucifer said 24 hours, maybe I can still survive.'_

But a nagging part in the back of your brain says you won't.

"Okay, but we're going to keep an eye on you." Dean said.

You nod and lay down, facing your back to the boys and shut your eyes, begging for sleep to take you.

You feel your body waking up again later, and you keep your eyes squeezed shut, hoping against hope that it is the next day, that you survived the 24 hours. You roll over and look at the clock.

Your heart drops. It reads 11:27 pm.

You sit up and look around, neither Sam nor Dean are in the motel room, and you can hear murmuring outside the motel door. Your mind switches into auto-drive against your will. You place a pillow under the sheets, trying to make it look as much like a sleeping body as you can, and tiptoe to the bathroom again. You keep the light off this time. You open the medicine cabinet looking for something, anything to do the job. Sam and Dean took your knife, and anything sharp, but they didn't check the medicine cabinet. There is a large bottle of extra strength ibuprofen and a few handfuls of sleeping pills.

Opening the door a crack, you see Sam and Dean are still outside. You run to the bedside table and grab the half full bottle of whiskey from earlier, and the safety knife Dean keeps in the first aid kit. You quietly sneak back to the bathroom and climb out the window. You sit just outside the window and sit down, setting your tools around you. You can feel the hot tears fall down your face as you swallow a handful of sleeping pills followed by a large gulp of whiskey. You carve 'I'm sorry' into your arm; it is all Lucifer will allow. You cannot write a note and you know it. You take a few more large gulps of whiskey and a few handfuls of ibuprofen. You are starting to get tired, so you lean against the wall and silently cry. Another handful of pills, another gaping wound in your arm, and a quarter bottle of whiskey later, you can see the black around the edges of your vision.

You look at your watch: 11:48 pm.

You close your eyes as you hear swearing inside. Sam and Dean are looking for you. They keep calling your name. You hear the bathroom door slam open, as you slowly slide down the wall. They last thing you see or feel is the brothers who took you in jumping down beside you and pulling you up, back into the motel.

You smile at them and stop fighting the tide of black that is overwhelming you.


End file.
